


Mutual Loss

by LenoirWhittlethorn



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gore, Graphic Imagery, Other, intense imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1963410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenoirWhittlethorn/pseuds/LenoirWhittlethorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old work of mine, before Empty Boots. You'll have to forgive me if there are some inaccuracies, since this was back when I first got into Shingeki no Kyojin. This was inspired by a suggestion my best friend made, so this is somewhat dedicated to her. Also the very last line was inspired by an actual piece of Literature. Props to anyone who can figure it out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutual Loss

“Constricted Cages”

 

Oppression latched onto every human soul from birth and death doubled the weight. Those left behind had to endure the oppression of living in a cage and being forced to realize that they were fragile. The few that dared to rattle the cage often perished, so many remained inside, whistling meaningless tunes. Humans were fed the same slop: titans were unstoppable and humans were crushable. Titans killed humans in droves, but it never made death less agonizing. 

These heavy thoughts mashed into Jean ’ s mind until the front of his skull throbbed. The ceiling panes came into focus as Jean lay still on the floor. He strained his eyes trying to find the pattern in the wood ’ s grain. He could hear everyone outside the small house. Jean ’ s ears twitched at the various pitches of panting, huffing, and wheezing. They were all coming to terms with their fragility. Humanity. Sighing, Jean shut his eyes from the strain.

Marco ’ s half-eaten body flashed into Jean ’ s mind. It was so vivid; Jean could smell the blood and excrement that oozed from his friend ’ s rigid body. How the sunlight couldn ’ t brighten Marco ’ s one remaining eye. Marco ’ s warm smile distorted with torn off lips. He was swift, yet there he was, just lying on the cobblestone street. Dead. Ripped down like a pig in a slaughter house; his body was heavier than any fallen titan. Marco was Jean ’ s comrade—no—he was a good friend. And he was torn apart by a titan that could ’ ve— should ’ ve  gotten Jean.

Jean opened his eyes to glare at the ceiling, but his vision was blurred. He sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Rain?” He murmured, but his cheeks were wet. “No,” Jean scrubbed his face, but more tears spilled out. Dumbfounded, Jean put his hands in his lap and looked out the small window in front of him. Why was he crying now?

The distant, cold stare the nurse had given Jean a couple days ago reminded him of important advice. Cry after specified duties were performed. Mourning was done after names were filed. Once the flames devoured every corpse found within ground zero. Jean locked away his shock, his anger, his despair once he looked at that nurse ’ s unwavering eyes. Even when Marco ’ s body was dumped onto the massive pyres of mutilated corpses, Jean didn ’ t shed a tear. By then he had sealed it too tightly and it was sinking deep into his stomach. Now, when Jean wasn ’ t ready to cry, the tears came?

“I ’ m not ready.” Jean ’ s shoulders shook as his words squeaked out. He drew his knees to his chest and inhaled deeply. “I ’ m not ready!” He tried to yell, instead the wall vibrated with his strangled cry. He slammed his forehead into his knees as his whole body trembled. Tears dripped off his chin as he burrowed his face into his arms. “I ’ m not ready.” Jean whimpered, and then sobbed without restraint; a luxury he couldn ’ t afford anymore.

****

Whenever Armin shut his eyes, the same sequence played on a rapid loop. It was fleeting, but vivid enough to make Armin freeze on the spot for a few minutes. Eren, his childhood friend, always had a stern gaze that manifested raw determination. Except that one day, when he saw a brief glimmer of fear; a fragileness that made Armin aware that they were just kids fighting titans. Then a wall of ivory separated them. As Armin remained plastered to one spot, his right eye twitched as if that same breeze flitted past—when Eren ’ s severed arm whipped past his head. His eyes were open and he saw his boots, but he wasn ’ t aware he was looking.

Everyone rumbled around Armin like the rushing rivers; they were milling about various orders, half mumbled to themselves. After the incident it was common for many survivors to mumble. Armin was silent; he knew himself well enough. If he tried to mumble, he would escalate to hysterical screaming. All he wanted to do was scream. But he forced himself into silence; after all, there were tasks to be carried out. Why wasn ’ t he moving?

Armin inhaled deeply and chewed his lip.  Eren was alive now; Mikasa was alive . He was alive. Right? He wanted to scream, but good soldiers didn ’ t scream. Right? Amongst the rumbling rivers, Armin jerked his head up when he heard sobbing. Everything came into focus and Armin studied every passing face. They were hardened by loss and all had the steeled expression of wanting to get errands done before sundown. Armin closed his eyes to pinpoint the sobs and he was relieved that the sound wasn ’ t too far away. His legs were aching, but Armin sprinted despite each step sending uncomfortable flops in his stomach.

It was a small cottage, a standard build courtesy of the government, and Armin marveled at how well the house ’ s condition was. The front door had chunks missing, but still had both hinges intact. Armin almost knocked, then he shook his head with a wry smile smeared across his weary face. Still, Armin gingerly opened the front door and stepped into the house with all muscles tensed. The air was thick with dust and memories, making Armin think of his childhood days with Eren and Mikasa. He jumped when a low wail wrapped around the base of his ear drums. Repeating to himself that he was okay, Eren was okay, and Mikasa was okay, Armin was able steady his heartbeat.  He was ready for the next wave of sobs and pinpointed the source; the master bedroom which was only across the kitchen to his left. 

Armin knew he should at least call out, in case it was a distressed survivor. Yet his throat tightened at the idea of raising his voice; it only wanted to howl the same as the poor soul in that room. Chewing his lip, Armin stalked across the kitchen floor, his eyes set on the bedroom door that was ajar. His left boot suddenly crushed something on the hardwood floor and he gasped. A baby ’ s rattle. Armin put both hands over his heart and shook his head. He was fine, he was fine, he was fine. Okay. Staring at the door, Armin decided to forget formality, gentility, and courtesy. He walked forward, inhaled, and pushed the door.

****

Jean cursed under his breath when he heard a sickening crunch just outside the room ’ s door. Someone must ’ ve heard his bawling; how could he be so careless? His sleeves were too damp from wiping his face, so whoever it was, they were going to see a side of Jean they ’ ve never seen before. He clenched his jaw and prayed it wasn ’ t Mikasa. Or maybe he should pray it was Mikasa. Jean shut his eyes at his thought process; from loss to lust, really?  Sorry, Marco .

When the door swung open, Jean decided he would look the person in the eyes, like a real man. Suddenly Marco ’ s half-eaten face appeared before Jean and he couldn ’ t breathe. The gruesome image dissolved like a flare ’ s smoke and Jean could see a familiar face. The one blonde kid always tagging along Mikasa and that idiot Eren. Armin, right? Jean could feel his lungs inflating and deflating, but he still felt light-headed. Why did humans need to work so hard just to breathe?

“J-J-Jean?” Armin gaped and blushed. “I-I ’ m sorry, when I heard the sobs, I thought it was a civilian left behind.” 

Armin felt his face burning up and he knew with his fair complexion that meant his face was crimson. He understood that his comrades had endured heavy loss and his embarrassment stemmed from deep-rooted shame. Eren was alive. Could he say the same for the others? Armin maintained eye contact with Jean and his urge to scream intensified. Why now? 

Jean huffed and broke eye contact with Armin. “No civilian, just my dumb self. Slacking off like a true MP, right?” Jean got to his feet, dusted off his back pockets, and attempted to play off the whole situation. Armin wasn ’ t like Eren at all; he was quiet and respectful. Unlike Eren, Armin wouldn ’ t be so boorish to demand why Jean was crying. The short blonde had an amazing ability to pick up on subtle verbal cues. Everything would be dropped and buried again; buried deep underground with no chance of being dug up again. As Jean approached Armin, he noticed that Armin ’ s eyes were still looking at the spot where he sat. 

Armin couldn ’ t move again and his throat felt as if it were filled with stones. He heard Jean ’ s quip, but while dozens of responses emerged, he couldn ’ t utter a single one. Chewing his lip wasn ’ t going to appease the roiling, turbulent emotions that were lodged in his esophagus. He had to, he just  had to scream, and there was no turning back. Hearing Jean sob without any regard to duty or propriety gave Armin ’ s subconscious strength in releasing his anguish.  I need to scream .

“Hey, Armin? Are you okay?” Jean gently placed his right hand on Armin ’ s left shoulder. “Let ’ s get movin—” 

From the deepest pit of Armin ’ s stomach, a guttural noise erupted. Armin unleashed a massive howl that made Jean take a couple steps back. Armin was aware what he was doing, but he didn ’ t care anymore. He was furious at himself for not doing anything for Eren when he got eaten and while Mikasa prevented him from committing suicide, Armin still could not wipe his hands clean from guilt. He was once again relieved from real pain because his friends were there. It seemed Fate was playing a cruel game with him. He didn ’ t deserve to mourn with the others because he didn ’ t lose as much. How could he look Jean in the eye? Marco was gone for good, while Eren was still around. What right did Armin have to shed tears? These thoughts circulated the blood that pumped Armin with fresh air to scream until the walls appeared to shake. 

“Armin! Armin!” Jean grabbed Armin ’ s slender shoulders and shook him lightly. He was about to yell “get a grip”, but he remembered his sob fest earlier. His expression changed from panic to solemnness as he watched Armin ’ s face turn to light purple.  Any moment and he ’ ll run out of air . 

When Armin slouched from exhaustion, Jean braced himself as he caught Armin. Jean gasped at how light Armin was and he wondered if it was due to the soul held within. Armin was still yelling incoherently, but it sounded like other comrades that had witnessed a titan eating people in front of them. This was not the quiet bookworm several years ago, or perhaps, maybe this was the real Armin. Suppressing raw emotion for the sake of appearances, whether for himself or for others. Finally understanding why Armin broke into hysterics, Jean wrapped his arms around Armin ’ s head. 

 

The two young men stood in the doorway.

 

The whole cottage ignited with an orange glow as charcoal shadows zipped past the windows. Soon it would be time for everyone to regroup and get some food before the fitful nights of flashbacks and regrets. Everyone. Except the fallen ones; the empty seats and cots that may be filled with new recruits, but never having the same spark of warmth. 

 

Armin saw only darkness, but it wasn ’ t because he blacked out. Coming to his senses, Armin realized someone was holding him. Or at least his head.  Jean!  Immediately, Armin stretched his arms out, putting distance between him and Jean. Jean took the cue and released his hold around Armin ’ s head. “I ’ m sorry,” Armin rasped and coughed. 

“N-no big deal,” Jean crossed his arms over his chest, it was all he could do to keep his hands steady. As the room tumbled into cool blues and purples, Jean dreaded the awkwardness that was enveloping the both of them. “Look, Armin—”

“—Don ’ t worry about it, Jean,” Armin looked up at Jean and even as his throat burned, he forced a chuckle. “We ’ re in the same boat.”

“More like a cage.” Jean flinched at his snap correction, but he noticed Armin ’ s blue eyes glimmer.

“A cage,” Armin whispered and began laugh hoarsely. “You ’ re right, a cage is exactly what I was thinking, but idioms seemed more comforting.”

Jean just smiled half-heartedly, not quite understanding the word ‘idiom ’ , but relieved that Armin didn ’ t think critically of his choice of action. Like Marco did, even when the decision meant sacrificing others. Jean dropped the effort of holding up his mouth and receded back into the more comfortable scowl. It was only natural. Armin stopped laughing and also returned to his calm expression. 

“Thank you, Jean.” Armin gently rubbed his eyes so that his vision would stop being blurry. 

Jean felt his neck get hot and he looked out the window. “Don ’ t mention it.” He stammered despite himself. When he glanced at Armin, he saw an image of Marco smiling; a whole smile. Even as Marco ’ s image faded, Jean still put his hand on top of Armin ’ s head. 

“Um, Jean?” Armin coughed.

“There was something there, probably dust,” Jean mumbled and swiftly moved his hand back to his side. “Come on, we ’ re going to be late.” 

“Oh right,” Armin kept a couple paces behind Jean, but he noticed that Jean was purposely walking slow. 

Once out in the street, Jean stopped completely, making Armin bump into his back. “Do you mind walking next to me? I keep thinking you ’ re passed out on the floor and I don ’ t feel like leaving another person behind.” Jean scolded.

“Sorry, I just didn ’ t want to get in your way.” Armin responded gently and stood next to Jean. 

  
The two young men looked at each other and saw the tear stains, the bloodshot eyes, and the various red marks decorating their faces. Both nodded with mutual respect and compassion. They weren ’ t just soldiers. They were human. As the two young men walked side by side, their shadows would bump shoulder to shoulder every so often. Eventually, the two shadows were engulfed by the overbearing cloak of nightfall, joining all shadows under one quilt; the living and the dead. 


End file.
